There and Back Again
by en flor
Summary: We only want what is lost, love when it's too late. A story about how love makes procrastinators of us all. IF


Ingrid cast her eyes out across the prairie. The westward bound train she was on wound its way lazily amongst the small towns and cattle ranches that occasionally dotted the landscape. Antelope wandered the empty pastures parallel to the tracks. On any other day she would have found the sight beautiful. Instead, a heavy melancholy had settled deep in her chest.

Fillmore—her Fillmore—was getting married in a little under two days. Part of her knew that, as his best friend, she couldn't miss one of the biggest events of his life. But a larger part didn't want to see this happen. It had been nearly three weeks since she'd voiced her thoughts on the union.

**_An April morning at the downtown X City Precinct. A group of officers gather around Fillmore's desk, laughing, smiling, and clapping Cornelius on the back good naturedly. Ingrid enters from the back door, clad in a green wig, red miniskirt, and various cheap fake jewelry pieces, or 'bling'._**

"**I can't believe it," Tehama sniffed, "After all these years working together. I'm gonna miss you Fillmore."**

"**Gee Fillmore, I'm happy, I really am, but it just won't be the same without ya. I mean it really just won't beaiiiIII!" O'Farrell had been attempting to take a picture of the whole gang together, but the chair he was standing on happened to have wheels, and he toppled over in short order.**

"**Well, Fillmore, it has been an absolute honor to serve with you," Vallejo beamed, "And I'm truly sorry to see you go. But Congratulations, you lucky dog. She's a quite a catch."**

**Cutting through the group, Ingrid handed him a bagged cassette tape. "Here's the confession chief." She pulled out a pen and began writing on the evidence bag. "A full out declaration of Ms. Zortman's role in the kidnapping, down to the number of the bank account used. I sent Anza and Johnson down to bring her in." Scribbling out the date and time, she flicked her eyes up at the crowd. "So where's Fillmore going? Don't tell me he's after the Gonzaga twins. We haven't even relocated the source yet."**

**The room suddenly became dead quiet, save for the sound of Ingrid's pen scratching on the bag. **

**Fillmore took a deep breath. "I proposed to Carol last night. She accepted."**

**Ingrid dropped the pen. All eyes rooted to her.**

**After a moment's pause, she burst out laughing. "Right!" She snickered, "Of course. Cornelius Fillmore, leading officer on the force and nationally renowned detective is going to drop everything and move to the middle of nowhere Montana!" Snorting, she replaced the fallen sharpie to the desk. "And you'll raise chickens I'm sure. Wow. I must be getting gullible, because for a minute, you almost had me."**

**All eyes darted back to Fillmore. He had met Carol at a conference last year. She _was _the sheriff of a town that wasn't even large enough to be included on a map. Two to three thousand people, maybe less. But she was extremely devoted to the area, loved the countryside, and vowed never to leave it.**

**Fillmore's face had become a hue darker. "I'm _not _joking Ingrid. We're getting married in a few weeks, then I'm moving up North to join her."**

**Ingrid, who had been meandering back to her own desk, rounded quickly. "What?"**

**Fillmore crossed his arms. "You heard me. I'm waiting on my congratulations and apology right about now."**

**All eyes darted back to Ingrid. **

"**Fillmore, you have to be kidding on this. You can't just give up your career, your home, your _life_, and move away without telling your friends!" Her eyes were wide in disbelief.**

"**Um, I am telling my friends. Here. Now. And some of them are being way less than supportive." His brows had begun to knit together, foretelling his growing anger.**

**Like Wimbledon fans, the eyes of all officers present bounced back and forth. As the argument grew louder and louder, even on duty officers began watching it develop. Costanza, who had been fingerprinting a young shoplifter, stood there loosely holding the left thumb of his charge. Luckily the teenager was equally interested, and absentmindedly pressed his own thumb into the inkpad. All around the precinct, officers suddenly found the need to take coffee breaks, walk extremely slowly to the bathroom, or otherwise find themselves sitting at a desk instead of heading to the fileroom.**

"**And what will you do up there? Check for udder tampering? Police Prairie Dogs? Fillmore, you're better than this!" Ingrid, exasperated, seemed to have lost some of her initial inexplicable anger, but nevertheless remained resolute. They were barely a foot apart, and maintained a scary level of eye contact.**

"**What, are you saying, that Carol's work doesn't mean something? That because she's not some big city hotshot, what she does somehow doesn't matter? Doesn't count?"**

"**No! I'm saying that you, Fillmore, have a strong inherent sense of Justice. Taking out the bad guys, making the world a little bit safer—it's not just a job you do, it's a part of who you _are_. You can't just give that up and run away!"**

"**Maybe I can! Saving the day may be a rush, but when it's over I go home alone. I can't spend my whole life waiting for some nonexistent Ms. Perfect. Carol and I are great together and we can't do this long distance thing anymore. I'm ready to take the plunge."**

"**And resent her forever for taking it? Fillmore, someone else is out there for you, someone who won't make you give up your happiness for hers!"**

**Danny passed a bowl of popcorn to Costanza, who likewise handed it to the shoplifter, who passed it on to Tehama. As she went to bite a piece, she noticed ink on the kernels, and with a blech! tossed the rest into a wastebasket.**

"**Fillmore, you can't be serious!" Ingrid countered, shaking her head, as if doing so would somehow rewind time and undo the conversation she was having.**

"**This from a girl with green hair who came off a street corner?! I know what I'm doing, and I am serious! All your excuses are 'what ifs' and based on nothing. If you can't give me one _good_ reason why I shouldn't go, then today is my last." Though the wedding date _had_ been eight weeks away, during the course of their battle, it had somehow bumped up to six, then three weeks from now.**

**Shocked speechless, Ingrid stood there unable to think or reply. **

**Slightly shaking, Fillmore grabbed his raincoat and stalked out the front door, slamming it hard.**

**Ingrid, now shaking herself, ripped off the wig and furiously threw it on the ground. She proceeded to step on it as she turned and left through the back entrance.**

**As the sounds of Ingrid's heels faded, Vallejo stood up.**

"**I once took down 350lb football player resisting arrest," he murmured, "but I couldn't break up a fight between my own top officers."**

**Indeed, the best department in the country had been, for all intensive purposes, rendered inactive for the better part of an hour. Gradually the crowd came to, and set about moving on with the day's business.**

They hadn't spoken since. True to his word, Fillmore dropped off his resignation the following morning, a day Ingrid had conveniently come in late.

Then last week, she received the invitation. Carol's handwriting. He must not have told her about their argument.

Ingrid sighed, staring out the window. It had started to rain.

Deux-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Several hours later, the train screeched to a slow stop. Having only one carry-on, Ingrid made her way down the narrow staircase without fuss, and stepped onto the platform. She was the only passenger getting off at this station.

Across the horizon she could see the whole town. One motel. One chapel. One bank. A few stores here and there. Finding a room wouldn't be too hard.

Ten minutes later, she was standing at the front desk, waiting for the receptionist/bellhop/owner to fetch fresh towels and the key to her room. Peering over the counter, she could see the list of guests staying there as well. The list wasn't long, and consisted mostly of Fillmores; most of whom she knew well. Carol's family lived on ranches bordering the outskirts of town, Ingrid mused, and would probably drive in. As for their friends down in X City, few had the time or the money to make the trip. Two days each way by train, as there was no airport nearby which made regular flights. Most had opted instead to send gifts by mail.

O'Farrell was here though. Right above her own name. She had overheard him telling Anza about taking photographs for the happy couple. He had offered a bachelor party as well, but Fillmore had declined.

"Right then. There ya'ar Miss. Room 17, second floor. Breakfas' in tha parlor begins 'round 9, but o' course ya can order it any time afta' as well." He peered over his spectacles. "There's a washroom fa' clothes down and on tha left, and 'ere's a spare train schedule should ya decide to leave sooner or be needin' ta stay later." He smiled. "Is good to 'ave ya 'ere Miss. If ya be needin' anythin' else, jus' holla. I'm Bernie." He handed her the towels and key. "Enjoy yer stay."

With that, he hobbled into the back, and through a narrow crack in the door Ingrid could see him tinkering with a broken toaster.

Ascending the wooden stairs, she came upon a welcome, familiar face.

"Ingrid! Oh honey, it's so good to see you." Mrs. Fillmore wrapped Ingrid in a warm, embracing hug. "Let me help you get settled in. I've even made some tea."

Smiling, Ingrid found and unlocked the door to her small, but quaint room. At the center was a bed with crisp white sheets, in front of which stood a 12" television set sitting on a cart. To the far left corner was a desk with a vase of wildflowers. There was a side table with a rotary phone, and to her immediate right, a wardrobe for her things. Everything she might need, nothing she didn't.

As they hung her few belongings, Mrs. Fillmore made pleasant small talk. The townspeople had been friendly, the weather good. Yes, her train ride had been fine. Cousin Eugene had fallen asleep at the rehearsal dinner. Uncle Sam managed to get an early leave from the military, and miraculously arrived just in time. Mr. Fillmore was out hunting with Cornelius, no doubt imparting some last minute fatherly wisdom. Great Uncle Borace had predictably caused a ruckus, but when Ingrid pressed for details Mrs. Fillmore changed the subject.

"There now," she said, unfolding Ingrid's dress blouse. "Let's go have some tea in the parlor. I know you must be tired from all that traveling."

The teapot was still hot when they returned downstairs. Mrs. Fillmore refreshed her cup, then poured some for Ingrid. After sipping for a few moments, Ingrid noticed that the older woman had tensed somewhat, as though she had something she needed to say.

"You know, I always like you Ingrid," she began, "Ever since you both were so young. Cornelius never talked about anyone so much as you." She stirred her spoon, sending faint wisps of white steam into the air. "This isn't exactly how I imagined things turning out—but, life tends to work that way." She smiled. "Things pop up when we least expect it. Complications arise. When Darren moved to X City to finish graduate school, I thought maybe that was the end for us. I didn't know if I was ready for so big a change. But we got through it."

Eyebrow raised, Ingrid chose to say nothing, instead drawing in a long slow sip of tea.

Finishing her cup, Mrs. Fillmore put a knowing hand on Ingrid's shoulder. "No matter what happens Ingrid, just have a little faith. Whatever it is, I know you can do it."

Puzzled, Ingrid gave her a questioning look. "I'm sorry, I don't think I understand what—"

"You will." And with that she rose, giving Ingrid an encouraging look. "I have a few last minute errands to run. I'll see you in a little while." With that, she left quickly.

Ingrid watched her silently through the window, as Mrs. Fillmore briskly walked towards the bakery across the way.

_That was cryptic._ She thought, finishing her tea as well.

Tres--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She awoke the next morning to a loud, hard knock at her door. Rising groggily, Ingrid managed to fumble into her robe before opening it to face a very eager Danny.

"Oh Ingrid, I can't believe you made it! I mean after the---and then there was---and well you know---ok, I'll just stop. Why aren't you ready yet?" He was fully dressed in a traditional tux/kilt combo, looking far too handsome to be the oft clumsy coworker she knew from back home.

Ingrid yawned. "What do you mean? The ceremony isn't until nine. I wasn't planning on getting out of bed until at least 1130." She smiled at Danny's eagerness. It was so like him to be ready at eight in the morning for an evening celebration.

"No Ingrid," Danny said with increasing urgency, "Nine AM not PM. Check the invitation. It's a morning wedding!"

NOW she was awake. Dashing over to the sidetable, she reread the card. _Photographic memory, right._

Ignoring Danny, she rushed to the wardrobe, tossing the necessary items onto her bed, cursing under her breath.

"I'll be downstairs Ingrid." Danny called after her, hand over his eyes. "I was gonna walk over, but we can take my truck. It's much faster."

Twenty minutes later, Ingrid met Danny and . . . Bernie, was it? . . . in his pick-up.

"Thanks O'Farrell," Ingrid panted, a little winded from running down the stairs, "I owe you one."

"Save it for the bouquet throw Third," Danny grinned, putting the truck in gear, "I've got a garter with your name on it."

Ingrid grimaced, then turned to look at Bernie. "Third cousin twice removed," he replied hastily. "Plus I hear there's a triple layer cake."

As it turned out, many of the townspeople had arrived with the same idea as Bernie. The small chapel was filled to the rafters, with people filling in the groom's side clearly not part of the Fillmore clan.

At 830 they crossed the threshold, adorned with roses, and surrounded by chatting guests. Near the top of the stairs she spotted Great Uncle Borace, and made to go greet him, when Danny pulled at her elbow.

"Um, Ingrid, why don't we enter the back way? It's a little crowded here, and we have seats reserved up front, and, well . . ." He glanced up, his eyes widening a little, and pulled a little harder, "It'd really just be best if . . ."

"If what?" Perplexed, Ingrid looked from Danny to Borace, who was ambling down as quickly as he could. She was one of the few people on the planet that Great Uncle Borace not only tolerated, but liked.

"You mean you don't know?" Distracted, Danny stopped tugging and looked to Ingrid. "I thought for sure Mrs. Fillmore filled you in yesterday when . . ."

"O'Farrell! Go git your arse inside! I wanna talk to Ingrid." Great Uncle Borace had finally caught up, and waved his cane menacingly at Danny's shins.

Defeated, Danny released Ingrid's arm, and moved away. "I'll be inside."

"You bet you will. Now g'on, git." Borace thrashed the air again for good measure. Turning to Ingrid, he continued. "C'mon girl, walk with me. We have something to discuss."

"But the ceremony . . ."

"Doesn't start for 'nother half hour. There's a bench down there. Let's sit."

They retired to a white bench next to the garden adjacent to the church. Birds pecked at the scattered seeds, and a bunny hopped its way amongst the invading clover.

"So I overheard that pipsqueak jibber-jabberin'. Was he right in sayin' that niece o' mine neglected to mention last night's charade to you?" He plucked a long blade of tallgrass, and began chewing the end, waiting for her response.

Great Uncle Borace. He was known for being forceful and upfront, getting right down to business. But Ingrid usually got a warm hug and greeting first.

"Mrs. Fillmore mentioned it," She answered, "but left out a few of the . . . er, details."

"Well. Let me give it to you straight. Last night, we had the rehearsal dinner. Very good, I had the duck. But that's not the point. Everyone starts goin' round the table, givin' their regards to Carol and Cornelius, gushing over tea cozies and grandbabies. But I says what's on my mind. What's really on all our minds. Do you know what that was?"

Ingrid shook her head. She too, had taken to chewing on a blade of grass while the old man talked, and so said nothing.

He sat back, disgruntled, but pleased with himself. "I said, 'I wish Ingrid and Cornelius the very best.' Then I sat down and finished my duck."

Sputtering, Ingrid stared wide-eyed at Borace. "You didn't!"

"Of course I did! Hell, we all knows you two were meant for each other since day one! The first time I laid eyes on you, I knew. I said Buella, (God rest her soul), this one here's a keeper. She'd a sided with me too, if she coulda made it." He looked up at the sky, as though Buella herself was sitting on a cloud and nodding fervently with agreement.

"Well, what did everyone say?! What happened?" Ingrid asked, a little pale.

"Oh, there was a ruckus." He looked at her sideways. "But who cares what they think? They're not important. None of 'em." He turned his cane over, contemplative. " 'Sides, we all know this ain't right. I'm just the only one who'll say so."

Facing her, he grabbed her palm. "I know he loves ya Ingrid. You're not the only one who's had a shoutin' match with that boy. "

From nowhere, Ingrid felt tears brimming. This was just too much, too soon. She needed time to think, time to analyze how she really felt. Fillmore? Her and Fillmore? Together?

The Church bells began striking, hastening in all the last minute arrivals and dawdlers.

Straightening, Ingrid steadied herself. She was upset her friend was leaving. That was all. And she did not come all this way to miss his marriage.

"Uncle Borace, we need to get inside." She stood up, determined.

"What?! Girl, did you hear a _word_ I said?" He stood up, surprised at her swift change in attitude.

_Bong_

"Yes, I did. But we need to get inside before they shut the doors." She smoothed out the wrinkles in her skirt, then extended her arm to the old man.

_Bong_

"Do you mean to tell me you're just gonna sit and let this happen?" Borace was thrown, for in his experience Ingrid was far from passive. He expected her to charge over to the preacher's house next door, and put a stop to this mess. Or order an air raid. This girl could do anything she put her mind to. And her solution was to go take their seats?

_Bong_

"Uncle Borace, really. I came all this way to attend my best friend's wedding, not play homewrecker."

_Bong_

"Noo . . ." Borace crooned incredulously, moving to intercept her path. "Tell me I'm wrong then!"

_Bong_

She held his gaze briefly, then turned away.

"That's what I thought." He looked at her, obviously put out. "Cowards. All o' ya." He brushed away the arm she had extended to him, and made his way alone to the church, scowling and grumbling.

Seeing she was only a few feet from the back entrance, Ingrid made use of Danny's suggestion, and slipped inside to take her seat.

_Bong_

Shi------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sitting in the front row, Ingrid was but a few feet from _the_ Fillmore. Yet despite their proximity, Cornelius maintained a rigid stance, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

Cousin Eugene, the best man, had already nodded off. A faint odor told Ingrid that he must have partied late last night at the lone bar in town. That, or he was a budding narcoleptic.

As steadfastly as Cornelius was avoiding Ingrid, she fixed him with an unwavering stare. This was partly because she had the luxury of watching without being caught, and partly because of the people next to her.

On one side sat O'Farrell, snapping pictures continuously, as well as keeping a running, under-the-breathe commentary

"The flower girl just picked her nose! A classic shot if ever there was one!"

To her right sat Lenny, an older cousin of Fillmore's who insisted on 'comforting' her. He had already offered her tissues and a shoulder to cry on. He had even tried to hold her hand a few times. That only stopped when Great Uncle Borace, who sat one pew behind, hit him upside the head. The loud reverberating smack made everyone chuckle, and for one brief moment, Ingrid and Fillmore met each other eye to eye. Then he turned away.

Carol looked fantastic. Instead of an organ, her entrance was accompanied by a fiddle and a flute. Her antique laced gown trailed after her, and her long auburn hair was curled in an updo. For the first time, Ingrid noticed how tall she was. 5'9", 5'10" at least. Surrounded by tall Fillmores as well, she suddenly felt very small.

The ceremony began with a long exposition by Father Padecki. He spoke at great length about what makes a good marriage; the give and take, honor, faithfulness, devotion, love. As he eloquently described the triumphs and tribulations of a successful union, Ingrid found herself recalling certain images in her mind's eye: her and Fillmore, working on a case; the two of them watching a movie at her apartment, attending a family reunion (his), sneaking out of a family reunion (hers); crying next to him at her mother's grave, laughing as they commiserated over horrendous blind dates; graduating X High School, presenting him with Goldy XIII . . . .and then she knew what she had to do.

As she came to, the priest had finally begun the formalities.

"Whosoever objects to this union . . ."

"Well, the rest of this gets boring 'till they exchange rings," Danny whispered to no one in particular, "so I may as well shut this baby down . . ."

"Speak now or forever hold your piece."

The most deafening quiet known to man passed over the little congregation. After roving every inch of the building with his eyes, Padecki continued.

"Let us begin, then, to . . ."

"Wait."

All heads turned, a few gasps escaped. Ingrid took a deep breath, and stood.

Years later, Ingrid would remember this as one of the bravest things she had ever done.

"You said all my excuses were 'what ifs' and based on nothing. That if I couldn't give you one _good_ reason not to, you would leave." She looked him directly in the eyes. "Cornelius Fillmore, I love you. I always have. I always will. I have no right to ask you here and now, but I'm going to anyway. Come home."

Five-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Was it hours, or was it days? Ingrid looked to Carol. She had never really hated the woman, and disliked hurting her this way. But to her surprise, Carol didn't seem angry, indignant, or even confused. Just sort of sad.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Borace. He gave her the thumbs up, face spread in a large grin.

Danny sat taking pictures of the floor, mouth slightly agape.

Eugene woke up.

And Fillmore . . . he looked like he might be sick. His expression seemed pained, maybe even hurt. He looked from Carol to Ingrid to Carol again. They locked eyes for an eternity. The he turned back to Ingrid.

"Ingrid, I'm so sorry, I---"

"No," Ingrid started, anticipating what he was going to say. "No I'm sorry. I shouldn't have---." Her voice caught in her throat. In a last spurt of courage she rushed forward and gave him a strong, brief hug. "Goodbye Cornelius."

After that, only one thought consumed her. She needed to leave, and she needed to leave NOW.

She didn't run, but somehow crossing the church required no time at all. Bursting out the front door, she met the cool morning breeze. How calm the world outside the church was, when inside she felt so turbulent! Reaching inside her purse as she walked, Ingrid pulled out the train schedule Bernie had given her.

_May 27 . . . . . . Birmingham Station . . . .10:00 a.m._

Ingrid checked her watch. She had just under fifteen minutes to make it, and there was no way she could run all the way to the motel in heels. Kicking off her shoes, she continued walking briskly, _Why hadn't she retrieved the keys from Danny?_ A small panic began to creep in, and Ingrid's brilliant mind began to consider her options. She knew how to hotwire, but with no tools to speak of she couldn't cut wires, open the hood or pick a lock.

Then, across the small field which served as a parking lot, she spotted her salvation. The most beautiful riding horse she'd ever seen, tethered to a tree.

Though she'd never actually ridden a horse before, for the second time that day Ingrid somehow felt she like knew what she had to do. Untying the mare, she hoisted herself up. In a croaky voice she didn't recognize, Ingrid heard herself usher a _Yah! _as she squeezed the horse's side instinctively.

The road flew past underneath them, and as fate would have it, the mare seemed to know where she needed to go. They rounded bend after bend, right at the fork, then left. . . . finally arriving from the North side of town. As they neared the motel, Ingrid hopped off, retying the horse to a post by the tavern. "Good girl," she whispered, half crying. With a peck on the forehead, she turned and ran.

Through the front door, past the parlor, up the stairs, fourth door on the right. Ramming in the key, she grabbed her bag by the door. Having tossed most of her things on the bed in the morning rush, Ingrid gathered them in one big heap and stuffed them away. A quick sweep of the room, and she was running back down the stairs, around the corner. She tossed the key and a few bills on the counter, checking her watch as she did so.

_9:58_

It seemed as if her whole life had been nothing but running, running, and more running. Would she ever be able to stop? Would she want to?

Racing as though her life depended on it, Ingrid finally arrived at the platform. The conductor was finishing a cigarette, and tossing aside the day's paper.

She pulled out her ticket, windswept, tired, sweaty. Panting heavily, she awaited his stamp.

"Um, Miss? Might you want to put on some shoes before boarding?"

Ingrid looked down, realizing she had left her pumps back at the church. New tears threatened to break the surface. Taking back her stamped ticket, she hastily climbed aboard and fell into a seat.

Across the aisle, one of the train stewards sat reading a dog-eared paperback. Today was a slow day, with only a few errant passengers who needed tending. Peering over the top of his book, he noticed with concern the distress of their newest boarder. Taking in her swollen eyes, wet cheeks, and dusty feet, he rose to address her. "If ya want Miss, there's an empty room in the back. A bunk, and a bathroom. No one 'ill bother you unless you want botherin.'"

Grateful, Ingrid got up to follow him. "Thanks."

Two days later----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ingrid stood in the cramped train bathroom, combing her hair for the first time since boarding. Though she had already washed her face several times, it seemed that no amount of cool water could erase the red around her eyes.

She had changed into the clothes she had originally worn on the trip down. Such a subtle change had helped quite a bit to reestablish order and a sense of normalcy. She could see the outskirts of X City outside. Come Monday, she would begin the search for a new partner. Perhaps she would take him or her to see Ariella's show next month.

Ingrid sighed, flopping down on the cot. This was worse than any break up she'd ever been through---and they'd never---not even---

Why had she been so blind? Was it so impossible to imagine them together? All those school dances, all those Friday nights staying in, all the car rides, and all the afternoons spent doing nothing . . . all gone. Forever.

In a perverse form of self torture, her mind kept replaying these moments when she might have said or done something, anything different. Chances she could never have back.

Why did O'Farrell have to be there? Returning to the office was going to be a lot harder with everyone knowing what had went down. She was too weary to care very much right now. Great Uncle Borace was wrong. Would she be able to even visit him anymore? The thought of being outed from the Fillmore family was almost as distressing as the loss of Cornelius Fillmore himself.

_Now arriving at X City Station; Please have your tickets ready . . ._

Ingrid sighed. Ariella was supposed to pick her up at the station tomorrow, but since Ingrid had left early, it looked like she was going to have to flag down a cab and explain later.

Stepping down onto the platform, Ingrid breathed in the city smog. Cities were big and dirty, but more importantly busy. Any kind of distraction would be most appreciated right now. As she headed towards the street, her ears perked, catching a familiar, distant cry,

"Ingrid! . . . .Ingrid! . . .INGRID!"

No, she was hearing things. Ingrid stuck out her hand, attempting to wave down a taxi.

"Third!"

She froze, and put her hand down. Turning towards the call, Ingrid felt for sure her heart might break all over again.

Running towards her was one Cornelius Fillmore. His tux barely resembled one anymore; wrinkled, dusty, no tie and with several buttons missing. It looked like he hadn't slept in quite some time, and his untied laces wagged merrily in the wind of his footfall.

Fillmore pounded the pavement, stopping abruptly about six feet away from Ingrid. Breathing hard, he put his hands on his knees. Both remained this way for a few minutes, allowing him to catch his breath.

Finally, she couldn't wait anymore. "How?"

"Danny's pick-up makes a lot fewer stops than that train of yours."

She blinked. "When?"

"About two minutes after you." Fillmore smiled weakly. "If you count me running after you. Ten if you count me running back in, demanding his keys, and running out to find his truck. Dang you're fast Ingrid."

She paused. "But . . ."

He frowned. "Don't worry about all of them. Great Uncle Borace is right, who cares anyway? Carol understood---said she somehow expected it. The rest of the town threw a party for her."

She nodded. "And. . ."

"The horse was Barnaby's---he owns the tavern. Bernie found your key and money---you overpaid by fifty bucks. No one's mad, no harm done. I ran over your shoes though, backing out of the lot."

She shook her head. "You . . ."

"I was caught off guard when you cut me off, hugged me, and ran away. I was so shocked, it took me a minute to wake up and chase after you. When it hit you left I was so scared." He stopped, tearing a little at the corners of his eyes.

Ingrid felt herself beginning to cry all over again. "Why?"

"Because you didn't let me finish." Fillmore finally closed the space between them, wrapping his arms around her small frame, crying as well. "Ingrid, I'm so sorry. I love you too."


End file.
